


salt

by lvllns



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, I suppose?, and now here we are, i take welsh in one hand and elvish in the other and just...smash them together, look this was supposed to be a short oneshot, mythology AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-24 23:21:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22006135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lvllns/pseuds/lvllns
Summary: The forest is behind him, still raging wild and untamed, and he does not know what the people of this time call the water before him. It had been Ghilan’nain’s, centuries ago. Andruil had named it after her, some ridiculously long thing with more syllables than made sense and Solas finds himself chuckling. It’s soft and low and, if he allows himself the admission, perhaps the tiniest bit morose.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	salt

**Author's Note:**

> "hey i have a great idea for a one-shot" i said like a liar. and now here i am. originally i was going to post this as chapters but nah, fuck that.

It surprises him, though perhaps it shouldn’t, when he finds the small cottage still standing.

Near the border between Antiva and Tevinter, far north and resting just a five-minute walk from the ocean, it sits. It had been a refuge for him, somewhere to come to lay his head and escape from the chaos that was Arlathan. He remembers now, the memory a fleeting thing, that he drowned the place in wards before he blanketed that world with a veil that now has his magic in a chokehold.

He grimaces, nose wrinkling and shoulders sagging. Uthenera was not kind to him. Thousands of years he slept. Glimpses of the world, the changes it was undergoing, dropped into his dreams by those loyal to him still. Even after he broke the world into sharp shards that make his hands bleed as he tries to pick up the pieces.

He scrubs a hand over his face and sits on the beach. Buries his toes in the sand and stares at the water.

The forest is behind him, still raging wild and untamed, and he does not know what the people of this time call the water before him. It had been Ghilan’nain’s, centuries ago. Andruil had named it after her, some ridiculously long thing with more syllables than made sense and Solas finds himself chuckling. It’s soft and low and, if he allows himself the admission, perhaps the tiniest bit morose.

A flick of his wrist. Smooth, practiced. Lightning buzzes at his fingertips but fizzles out. That he sees that as improvement wounds deep. Waking from his long sleep has been trying enough but with the Veil...his magic is weak and he feels as if a part of his body has been cleaved off. Like he is missing a limb.

Solas prides himself on many things.

His intelligence. His dry humor. If he is feeling particularly vain, his looks. His aptitude with magic, specifically storm.

Now he sits on the beach, a small cottage behind him that feels like a monument to all his failings, and he is unable to pull a wisp into existence. Trying to cast, to draw on what was once a fundamental part of him, feels like he is trying to have a coherent conversation with Elgar’nan. It is difficult, near impossible, and anger bubbles up in his chest. Just another mistake. Something he should not have done but did anyway.

The waves crest, break against the shore and recede. It’s cathartic. Rhythmic. Soothing. He is so tired, exhaustion settles deep in his bones. Regrets have piled up and up and up. The stack of them leans perilously, sways when the wind shifts and he wishes it would collapse. Maybe it would scatter them all or maybe the weight of everything he has done would finally buckle his knees.

He shakes his head.

He has no time for those thoughts right now. He needs to rest, regain his strength and practice learning how to thread magic through the Veil.

He stands. Stretches his arms over his head and watches the waves a few seconds more. As he turns to head to the cottage, something breaks through the surface. Curious, he steps closer and watches as a square head pops up out of the water. The shape is familiar, something pings at the edges of his mind but everything is fuzzy from sleep and exhaustion and the damn Veil. It stares at him, or he thinks it does, it’s a little far out to be sure.

Two more steps closer, the length of his stride making the distance between himself and the creature rapidly vanish. It blows air through its nostrils, hard and high, before vanishing beneath the water. He watches as it swims away. As it stops every few feet to turn and look at him before disappearing again.

Solas breaks himself from his thoughts, pulls his body to the cottage and dismantles the wards as carefully as he can.

When he finally sleeps that night, he dreams of Ghilan’nain’s laughter and a tunnel hidden in a mountainside and waves crashing against cliffs.

—

Morning finds him bleary-eyed like a child. Dreams dance behind his eyes, swirl through his mind, and it takes him almost an hour before he is able to pull himself back together.

An improvement over yesterday, at least.

Waking from uthenera has been disorienting. A few of those loyal to him had eased him back from sleep as gently as they could but it did little to smooth the transition. It has only been two weeks, a paltry amount of time for one to attempt to find their equilibrium amongst the waking world, but Solas has precious little time these days. His orb is...somewhere. He has his agents out looking for it and the absence of it feels like yet another missing limb.

He lays in bed and wonders if he is missing two arms, two legs or one of each.

Crawling out of bed is his least favorite thing to do but he forces himself to his feet. To the kitchen where he is relieved to see the food has not spoiled. It’s easy enough to throw together fruit and griddle cakes that he has forgotten the proper name of.

He eats standing and looking out the window.

An hour later and he is sitting on the beach again, shirtless with his toes tucked in the warm sand. His hair is long and heavy, strands of ruddy auburn falling against his shoulders, and it’s just one more thing that needs to be dealt with. Instead of doing anything, he lays on his back and begins to draw on his magic.

Purple sparks crack and snap between his extended fingers. Sizzle and hiss and jump from hand to hand. A grin crawls across his face as the storm settles for a moment. Deep purple encases his palms for a solid five seconds before dissipating and he laughs. Weary and weak, but it is a laugh.

He lets his arms drop to the ground. Shoves his hands into the warm sand and just lays there. He is going to burn. The sun is high and his body is pale but he cannot find it in himself to get up. So he tries again. Pulls on his magic and bites his lip to keep from openly sobbing when the ward springs to life. It’s weak, it will not last long, but it drapes over his body like a warm blanket and he swallows hard.

He had fully expected that his magic would return to him quickly, and perhaps he is too full of pride to think that way, but he finds that he is unable to chastise himself when he is being proven correct.

He listens to the waves again. Allows his eyes to drift shut and finds himself on the edge of sleep when a noise splits the methodical push and pull of water.

Blinking, he sits up. Shakes the sand off his hands and finds himself looking at the creature from yesterday. It’s closer today, nearer to the shoreline, though still deep enough to be mostly submerged. This time when its head tilts, Solas tilts his head the same way. Deep black eyes blink and then the creature vanishes.

He climbs to his feet, casts the ward again, and walks to the water. There is a dock to the west, jutting out over the ocean, but he walks straight until the waves lap at his knees. He had forgotten, after so many years, how warm the northern waters are.

A deep inhale. A slow exhale.

His shoulders drop as a little tension bleeds out of them.

He watches the surface but the creature is gone. Something tickles at the edges of his mind but he cannot pin it down. It is slippery and quick as it darts between his ears.

He shakes his head.

Stands in the water and works on calling ice to his hands.

—

Mornings become easier. Not that he likes them, it’s just easier to be thrown from the dreaming to the waking world. At least he no longer wakes feeling like his stomach is going to empty itself all over the floor. Those had been a rough four days.

He spends three days sitting on the beach practicing his magic.

He spends three days trying to get close to the creature that returns to watch him.

He dreams at night, wild things that he can barely hold onto in the morning but he remembers Ghilan’nain and the roar of ocean waves.

There is significance there and the fact that he cannot pull it from the depths of his memories is becoming more frustrating than the difficulty he continues to have with his magic.

—

Five days since he found his cottage and he is sitting on the edge of the dock with a fish in his hand.

It’s a ridiculous idea really but he found it washed up on the shore this morning so he waits. He moves his magic around himself, fire and water and storm. It is becoming easy again, not as easy as it was because with the Veil up it never will be, but he is no longer struggling. Every positive no longer leaves him in tears.

He is rolling a wisp between his hands when he hears a blow of air to his right. He smiles, a small private thing, and turns his head. It is closer today, bolder perhaps because he has shown no inclination toward violence.

“What are you?” His voice is rough, scratchy and thick from disuse. He tries to think about the last time he spoke and...oh, has it really been a week already? He gave orders to an agent and then disappeared and before that he had been asleep.

Solas blinks.

He has been without company for so long and now he is talking to whatever this creature is.

It swims closer, its grey body looks like molten silver as it moves and dips beneath the surface. When it is roughly thirty feet away, it stops. Pokes its head up and stares at him.

He tosses the fish.

A loud bark and the creature vanishes and the word slams into him all at once.

 _Morloi_.

Something Ghilan’nain had created before...well.

It pops back up, fish held between teeth, and rolls away from him in a graceful movement that makes jealousy burn down his spine.

Solas stays on the dock even as the moon rises and the seal does not return.

—

He has always done well with a schedule, a plan. So he makes a new one.

Every morning he wakes and sits on the dock to fish after he eats. He needs the meat anyway, his stores are mostly dry goods and fruits. He practices his magic, uses it to lure fish to the hook. He catches a few for himself and then a few more.

The seal shows up about an hour after the sun breaks the horizon. Solas tosses it the extra fish and talks.

Today he bounces a ball of fire from hand to hand while he tells the seal about some ridiculous fight between Dirthamen and Falon’din. His memories have begun to return to him in bits and pieces and he has found speaking them aloud usually pulls more out of hiding. So what starts as that winds and twists down a path that makes no sense but the seal does not seem to mind.

He tells stories of the Evanuris, of parties and squabbles between powerful people. He skirts around the Veil, touches on it briefly before coming back to Ghilan’nain. He tells the seal of his closest friend and confidant. He knows when he speaks of her that his voice becomes wistful, he can’t help it. He misses her dearly and that something of hers has survived...he sniffs and swings his legs and talks and talks and talks.

—

“I can tell you, because you are just a creature who cannot speak,” it has been ten days since he arrived at the cottage and the seal looks at him from the water. He twists his hair in his hands, braids it just so he has something to do. “My name is Solas, that came first, but...I am also known as Fen’Harel.”

The seal vanishes beneath the waves and does not return.

Solas laughs and thinks that maybe he is meant to be alone after all.

—

The seal has not come back for four days and it bothers Solas more than he expects.

It has become a friend. He bites back a cynical laugh. The mighty Dread Wolf, hiding at a cottage trying to regain his strength while he talks to a seal. Mythal would laugh to see him now, piling his hair on the top of his head in a poor approximation of a bun. He really just needs to cut it, maybe shave it off entirely, but his magic is more important so he continues to drop it down the list of things to do.

It is early still, the sun just barely beginning to crest above the water. He watches from the window for a moment. Grabs his fishing pole, bites into an apple and steps out the front door.

There is blood on the sand and his veins turn to ice. The apple falls from his hand and the pole clatters to the ground. Quick steps, not a run but close enough, get him down to the shore fast. There is a trail coming out of the water. A wide, flat area in the sand that eventually becomes footprints that head back into the ocean.

His heart begins to flutter wildly in his chest. Painful as it smacks against his ribs.

He races to the dock. Leans over the edge and looks, desperately, for anything.

There is a foggy memory at the back of his mind, deep and dark, and he wants to reach for it but he spots the seal, _his seal_ , listlessly floating about fifty feet from him. The noise he makes is beneath Fen’Harel but not beneath Solas and he is in the water before he can think about it.

He has always been a strong swimmer but thousands of years asleep coupled with the slightly rough waters cause him to struggle. The plan to heal in the water is abandoned and he scoops the seal up. It’s bigger than he thought, long and lean and a little off. Or maybe his memory is a little off? He isn’t sure but there will be time for examining the creature later.

He gets back to the dock and, with the help of his strengthening magic, heaves the creature onto the wood. He pulls himself out, falls onto his back and breathes for a minute. His hair is loose now, sticking to his face and neck and he pushes it out of his eyes roughly. Rolls onto his side, soft purple magic glowing warm around his hands, and promptly falls back into the water.

He breaks the surface. Sputters and spits salt from his mouth before hauling himself back out. Once again he shoves hair from his face and stares.

There’s a woman on the dock, naked save a silverly pelt beneath her. Her hair is a mess of bright gold waves. Falon’din’s _vallaslin_ decorates her face and he cannot bite back a snarl, though he keeps it as brief as he can. Freckles are splashed across her face, her arms, everywhere his eyes dare to look there are tiny dots of color against pale skin. There is a large bite on her left thigh, on the outside but it is a jagged thing. Solas tilts his head and tries, desperately, to remember what else Ghil dropped in the water so many years ago.

Blood continues to flow from the wound and he makes a soft noise as he is roughly pulled from his thoughts. Lays his hands on her leg and pours healing magic into her body. It takes some effort to staunch the flow and close the wound but he does. It will need more healing, some elfroot paste as well, but it is no longer going to bleed her dry.

He sits on his heels and allows himself to be shocked.

He has told her...so much. He bared so much of his soul to this seal thinking it was just a seal and not a shapeshifter. Perhaps the fleeing when he called himself Fen’Harel should have been a clue.

There is no way he can leave her here so he gathers her up, carefully, and takes her into the cottage. A loose tunic and a pair of pants later, he tucks her into his bed before going to retrieve the pelt. It’s soft, buttery smooth beneath his fingers, and he finds himself absently rubbing his thumbs over it while he walks back.

How odd, he thinks, for a shapeshifter to shed their skin.

A light clicks on in the back of his mind but the door remains closed and the answer is out of reach.

—

It takes three days for the woman to wake and it is a disaster when she does.

Solas is in the kitchen, bouncing lightning between his fingers as he cooks fish on the small stove. She comes flying out of the bedroom, eyes wide and oh, she is terrified.

The magic snaps out of existence.

“You are awake,” his voice has regained some of its smooth cadence and he is grateful for it. At least he does not sound like he has gravel in his mouth anymore.

The woman opens her mouth. Closes it. Repeats the movement a few times before her eyes spot the pelt hanging on the back of a chair and the noise of relief she makes sends Solas’ thoughts scattering to the wind.

She is shorter than he is, her head roughly around his collar bones, but she is lithe. Sleek. When she moves, it is graceful and captivates him entirely for a moment until he blinks away. A mess of wavy blonde hair drifts behind her, stopping above her hips. She turns to face him and _oh_ her eyes.

They are deep green. The color of the plants scattered around Mythal’s largest palace. Vibrant but dark, more forest than moss, and he finds himself completely lost for words.

“You cut your hair,” her voice is soft, lilting, and her head tilts.

Solas laughs as he runs a hand over his head, hair cropped close to his skull. “It was long and heavy. The saltwater was doing it no favors either.”

Clutching the pelt, she takes a small step toward him. He does not move. He barely breathes, afraid that anything will break this moment and send her fleeing.

“I was not,” she bites her lip before sighing. “I was not expecting to find this,” she holds the silvery skin up between them with both hands. Clutches it like it is a lifeline.

His brow furrows. “It is yours, is it not?”

She stares at him like he has six eyes and he blinks slowly. “It is…”

“Then why would you assume I would keep it?”

“Do you...What?” She slumps into a chair, looking exhausted suddenly. Her face contorts with pain and she rests her left hand over her thigh.

“I apologize, I do not know for certain what injured you,” his nose wrinkles and ah, that’s the smell of burning fish.

Without thinking he pulls the skillet off the stove and dumps the fish onto a small plate. It’s burnt to a crisp and his shoulders sag. Maybe he’ll finish up the apples he has saved still.

There’s giggling behind him and he turns to find her watching him, chin in the palm of her hand. “Alright?”

He snorts. Shrugs and sits across from her. “I feel as though I should be asking you that question.”

“Eh, the leg is shit but what can you do. It’ll heal,” a sour smile and it does not suit her face at all. He wants to smooth it away and he bats that thought out of his head before it can take root. “You really don’t know what I am?”

“A shapeshifter, I presume,” sharp eyes flick over his face and he shifts in his seat. She is looking for something and he cannot tell what. It is unnerving.

“I’m not a mage.”

“That is...surprising,” his head tilts.

“You really don’t know?”

He exhales sharply. Splays his hands out in front of him in a placating gesture. “I have no idea. You must excuse me, I have been...sleeping for quite some time, my memories are distant at best.”

Her eyes widen. “Right. Fen’Harel.”

“Perhaps the first clue that you were not a simple _morloi_ should have been when you fled at the mention of my name,” he quirks a brow.

She blushes and it floods her cheeks, drifts across her neck to the tips of her ears. “I wasn’t — I’m not scared. Of you,” she jerks her chin his direction. “It was just, uh, shocking? To have someone come out and tell you they’re the Dread Wolf?” He flinches. “Shit, sorry.”

A wave of his hands, though he keeps his gaze at the door and away from her face. “It is no problem, you need not apologize.”

She hums and they fall into silence. He can take five minutes of it before he is on his feet, grabbing apples and oranges from a box. He rolls some across the table to her and she laughs. It’s bright and clear and he feels his mouth pull up in a smile. A real one.

How long has it been since he truly smiled because he was enjoying the company of another person?

Mythal? Thousands of years ago before her death?

Or was it even earlier than that? Ghilan’nain perhaps. Maybe while they were racing through tunnels to the water where she was —

“Solas?”

He startles. Jumps and sends an apple flying through the air. She catches it easily and her brows turn down as she looks at him.

“I am —”

“You went somewhere and it didn’t look very nice,” a small smile as she hands the fruit back to him. Her fingers brush his and he barely keeps his body from blowing apart.

He shakes his head violently.

“Memories,” his smile is more teeth than anything. It only makes her look more concerned. “They return in pieces. Sometimes I find myself swept away,” his fingers drum against the table to the beat of an old song that he has not heard since a party at Dirthamen’s many years ago.

She hums before setting to work peeling the orange. “My name’s Abigail, by the way.”

He thinks he has never been so off in his entire life. “Ah, please pardon my inability to remember how one handles a conversation.”

Abigail snorts. “‘Handles a conversation?’ It’s just talking Solas,” she waves an orange segment around as she speaks. “Handling implies that it’s uncomfortable,” a blink as she leans across the table. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I — No?”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

He takes a bite of the apple and leans back in his chair. Wills his heart to stop trying to beat right out his throat. Is this really all it takes, to catch him so flat-footed? A nice conversation? Pretty eyes? He rolls his shoulders and flops his arm over his face.

“Yeah, you look like you’re having a blast over there.”

He chuckles and waves his other hand around. “I am fine, I assure you. Readjusting to...this world is, well, it has proven to be something of a challenge,” a thought flits through his head and he leans forward suddenly, elbows on the table. “Do you...have a family?” She nods slowly, eyes drifting to look somewhere over his right shoulder. “Will they not miss you?”

Her face flushes and she stuffs a few pieces of orange into her mouth.

“Abigail.”

It takes a minute for her to choke down everything but she shakes her head. “No, they’ll...it’s not unusual for me to, uh, wander.”

“It has been four days, no three, excuse me,” Solas tilts his head and thinks. “Maybe four. I find myself unsure, time is still passing strangely for me.”

“I’ve been gone weeks before,” something dark flashes over her face. Her fingers find the pelt on her shoulder and she tugs it into her lap. Clutches it hard enough that her knuckles bleed white. “I can always...go and come back.”

She’s not looking at him anymore and her voice is tentative. He watches her thumbs smooth over the skin methodically.

“If you’d like,” her eyes snap to his and she blinks, looking rather like someone has knocked her over the head with something heavy.

“Wait, really?”

He nods. “Of course,” shifts in his seat before resting his chin in his hand. “I would ask that you do not tell them exactly who you are speaking with.”

She laughs. “You would be surprised about my clan's feelings toward yourself,” a soft smile graces her face before she stands up.

Her left knee buckles and she barely catches herself on the table.

“Right, maybe in a day or two,” she grimaces.

Solas stands. “Come, we can put more elfroot on it and then you can rest.”

He keeps his hands hovering just above the tunic she wears, even though he wants nothing more than to touch her. To ground himself with her. But that would not be fair to her so he keeps himself close enough to help should she need it, but not close enough to touch.

She sits on the bed and tugs the breeches down without the faintest hint of self-consciousness. Solas goes red. Across his cheeks, to the tips of his ears and he can feel the heat trickle down his neck. When she glances up, half-naked and completely unashamed, she laughs.

“You’ve seen me naked already Solas,” a dark brow quirks.

His face heats up even more. “That was — I did not —”

She reaches out. Lays her hand on his arm and it’s like a shock. The touch jumps and jolts up his spine and he stiffens. Immediately her hand withdraws. “It’s fine. I’m Dalish we don’t really, I mean, you bathe when you can,” pink dusts her freckled cheeks as she shrugs. “Besides, you were keeping me alive. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“Of course,” he mumbles before turning to grab the elfroot paste.

He plans to offer it to her, he really does but she just twists away. Her hands grab the waistband and she pulls the right side a little higher. Frozen, he swallows hard and chastises himself. He has done this countless times. He has healed on battlefields and in his sanctuaries and in palaces. This is no different. Nothing about this is different, he is just helping someone who was injured.

And yet, as he smoothes the paste over the healing bite, something warm settles in his chest and it feels like he is waking up for the first time in his life.

—

It rains on the third day Abigail is awake.

She has remained in his bed and he has been sleeping on the small sofa, legs dangling off the end but he does not mind. He refuses to mind when he has had such intriguing company.

She is quick-witted, intelligent and gentle. In fact, she has taken to carefully moving bugs and rodents from the small cottage when she finds them. He tries not to watch but it is...endearing to see her kneeling down trying to coax a small mouse out of hiding behind a crate of dry goods.

This morning she is awake before him, whether from the rain or the fact that she is bouncing around free of pain, he is not sure. But he cracks open his eyes and cannot help the smile that blooms when he sees her.

Swaying from side to side, hair pulled up in a messy knot on top of her head, humming under her breath while she cooks. It smells salty, whatever it is. Salty but good and when he sniffs she throws a look over her shoulder.

His heart trips at the way she lights up.

“You’re awake!” She pivots to face him, hands on the counter behind her. “Solas, it’s raining,” there’s a wide grin on her face as she leans toward him.

He chuckles as he sits up. “I noticed _lethallan_ ,” he yawns, jaw cracking. “How does your leg feel?”

It takes a couple of blinks before the sleep has cleared from his eyes but when it does, she still has not spoken. Instead, she stands, leans against the counter, and looks at him with the softest expression he has ever seen. His breath catches in his chest.

Something in the pan crackles and she turns, the spell broken.

“It feels great,” she clears her throat. Solas thinks he can see red blooming down the back of her neck. “No pain today,” whatever she is cooking must be done because she pulls it off.

She turns easily, a small smile on her face as she sets a plate on the table. He blinks and slowly gets to his feet. The room is small, it takes him two steps to get close enough to see the fried cakes and he looks up at her with wide eyes.

She fidgets as she sits down. “It’s — You boiled the seaweed yesterday so I just,” she shrugs.

“I did not think anyone still knew what to do with _bara lafwr_ in this age,” he sits across from her and grabs one of the small cakes.

“I don’t know that many, uh, clans that live away from the sea do really. We call it laverbread now.”

Solas hums and takes a bite and suddenly he is back in his last sanctuary frantically shoving food in his mouth between meetings and raids and —

He shakes his head to clear the memories and when he looks up, Abigail is watching him quietly. She does this whenever she senses that he’s beginning to get a little lost. She just...waits and Solas finds himself quite unsure about what to do with her seemingly never-ending patience.

“Back?” She smiles, a small smile but it’s genuine. She pops one of the seaweed cakes into her mouth as he nods.

“Yes, I...these are delicious Abigail,” the corner of his mouth twitches and it is unfair how quickly her eyes light up.

They sit in companionable silence while they eat. Rain drums against the roof steadily and by the time they’re done, it hasn’t let up at all. He stares out the window, head in his hands, and just listens for a while. It’s the first rain since his waking and suddenly the urge to be outside is too much.

He tilts his head to look at the woman across from him and finds her eyes locked on the rain outside as well. “Come,” he stands. Holds out his hand and arches a brow. “It has been quite some time since I have felt rain.”

An odd impulse seizes him. He gives in. Wiggles his fingers.

Abigail rolls her eyes but giggles all the same as she takes his hand.

It’s as if a fire roars to life in his chest. Warmth blooms underneath his ribs and spreads up his abdomen. Flickers across his sternum before curling around his throat. He is flat-footed again, he knows it, and he keeps his mouth shut to prevent himself from saying anything ridiculous. Words sit heavy on the back of his tongue but he swallows them down. Smiles instead and leads her out the door and onto the beach.

The first drop of water on his skin is a shock to his system, the feeling foreign but grounding and he cannot stop the laugh the bubbles up from his chest.

More and more and more drops fall, coat his skin and soak his clothes. He tilts his head back, eyes closing, and sighs softly. Fingers squeeze his hand gently before disappearing and when he manages to come back to himself, there are circles being drawn between his shoulder blades. The soft cloth of his tunic shifting over his skin is too much, it’s too much and he feels like he is seconds from shattering but he refuses to move. A sharp pin in his chest keeps him in place.

He exhales and leans into her touch.

“I had forgotten what the rain felt like,” the words stick in his throat a little. He swallows hard. “It — This world is so...dull and I,” he huffs air through his nose. Shakes his head as he twists to look at her. “I do not know how to explain that the most vibrant things I have experienced since waking are the rain and…”

The _you_ goes unspoken but her eyes widen all the same.

“Dull how?”

“When I went into uthenera, the Veil was just settling into place. Things were falling apart and I fled to a safe place to go to sleep in the hopes that when I next awoke, the world would be right again,” her hand rests on his shoulder, thumb smoothing over the base of his neck. “To go from being surrounded by magic, the air being thick with it, to this,” he spreads a hand out in front of him. “The magic is suppressed, far away and difficult to grasp. What was once as easy as breathing is now like trying to sew leather using a blade of grass.”

Her thumb climbs higher, to the base of his skull. “It seems like it’s been getting easier for you.”

“It has been but it should not be so difficult to begin with,” he shakes his head. “It is of little consequence, I cannot do anything about it at the moment.”

Abigail does not speak, she just continues to move her fingers in circles against the skin of his neck. He blinks. Watches the ocean and the rain and wishes he could find the courage to wrap his arms around her. Pull her against his chest and breathe her in. The glide of her hand over his steadily overheating body is enough to drive him to distraction, ears twitching and eyes closing as he leans into the press of her palms.

“Come with me,” despite how softly she speaks, he still finds himself jumping. Twisting to look at her with wide eyes as her hand falls from his back.

The loss of it aches immediately.

“What?”

“I need to go to my clan, tell them I’m okay,” she looks straight ahead, eyes tracking the waves lapping at the shore. “Come with me. Stay with my clan. Meet some people outside of your agents,” the corner of her mouth lifts and he chuckles. “Maybe the lack of magic makes this world dull for you but I promise, the people more than makeup for it.”

She turns to look at him and his heart wedges itself neatly in his throat. Reaching up, she wipes rain from her face and smiles and it’s so bright. There is nothing untoward behind it. No ulterior motive. He feels like someone has kicked him in the stomach. To know that she wants to spend time with him just because. Without a plot or an agenda to further or battles to discuss.

Abigail shivers and Solas moves before he can stop himself. He calls warmth to his hands and rests his palms against her cheeks. There’s a soft hum as she leans into the heat.

“I will go with you,” his voice is soft, barely a whisper over the pouring rain but she lights up all the same. “How far to your clan?”

She reaches up. Rests her hands atop his and smiles, though she keeps her eyes closed. “Four days? They’re on the coast of Antiva, near the border.”

“We should go inside,” her hands squeeze his. “Abigail, we are soaking wet and if we’re leaving, we need to pack.”

She huffs a laugh. Cracks open her eyes and hums. “Five more minutes?”

He tips his head down. Presses their foreheads together and allows his eyes to slip shut.

“Five more minutes.”

—

Solas thinks he should leave a note, just in case. He very much doubts that his agents would appreciate him leaving without letting them know where he is going but...he cannot bring himself to do it.

None of them know about Abigail. Her company, her words, everything has been just between the two of them and for some reason the idea of penning a note and telling his agents he’s left with her makes his skin crawl. He wants to keep what they have for himself. Wants to tuck it away, safely, next to his heart and let it be. Foolish, foolish thoughts and wishes but he doesn’t try to stop them. He lets them build and finds his mind drifting from point to point, aimless and carefree for the first time in so long.

He aches.

Deep in his bones, he aches. For what exactly he is not certain. Not entirely. It is just for the company? Touch? Specifically Abigail? He looks at her and he wants to curl around her. Bury his nose against her throat and inhale so deeply that all he can smell is her. Perhaps he has been more alone and isolated than he thought.

Solas does not leave a note.

If he is needed, they can find him in the Dreaming.

—

Solas has seen aravels and clans in his dreams. He knows that a majority of clans, but not all, move from place to place. They travel with their halla herd and wooden homes and they move on when either the nearby humans cease being accommodating or something happens to urge them away. He has seen clans leave fertile forests because nobles swarmed the trees armed with swords and bows. He has watched Keepers make the decision to move on when a child comes into their magic and there are Templars a little too close for comfort.

Given what he has seen, Solas expects to find himself walking into a small camp of aravels.

He absolutely does not expect a small collection of cottages, some raised up high as they stand up over a large lake. The ocean is visible, maybe a fifteen-minute walk, but Clan Lavellan has their homes neatly set up on the edge of the forest.

He does not realize he’s stopped walking until Abigail’s hands are on his forearms. He blinks. Looks down at her and tilts his head. “No aravels?”

She laughs, the sound a little nervous as she glances over her shoulder. “Ah, no. It wouldn’t do for, well,” a jerk of her head in the direction of her pack. “It’s just easier to stay near the sea.”

“But you do not need the water?” His brow furrows.

His face heats up as she smooths a thumb between his brows. “Need, no. Desperately desire? Yes,” she smiles.

“Abigail? Is that you?” Someone hollers and she immediately deflates, shoulders hunching. “ _Da’len_ , I swear your father is going to have your hide,” the voice moves closer. Solas looks over Abigail’s head and spots an older woman, grey hair pulled back into a loose braid. “That is if I don’t skin it first _oh_ ,” she stops walking and keen lavender eyes dart between the two of them.

Solas clears his throat and tries to take a step back.

Abigail whines at the back of her throat and clutches his forearms.

A string of elvish bursts from the older woman and Abigail just leans forward. Rests her forehead against his chest and his face is surely bright red now, ears included. He tries, he really does, to follow what’s being said but it’s a slapdash of modern elvish. Vowels and consonants dropped off the ends of words, words run together. He is surprised when a few of the traditional ancient words slip through. The grammar has shifted, he notices. Verbs switching with nouns in some places and he can’t tell if that’s commonplace or unique to this clan or just happening because this woman is...berating Abigail about wandering off and returning with Solas and where has she been it’s been almost two weeks.

He keeps his hands at his side and blinks.

Eventually, Abigail pulls away. Turns to face the woman — no, the Keeper. She starts speaking, her voice softer though all attempts at soothing the Keeper don’t seem to work in the least. Still, Abigail calmly tells her about the injury and the healing and he watches as the older woman’s face loses some of its edge.

The Keeper turns to face him, bright eyes looking him up and down for a moment before she plants her hands on her hips. “Well, since Abigail lacks social grace, allow me to introduce myself,” Abigail groans, head tipping back to the sky. “I am Keeper Deshanna of Clan Lavellan,” she reaches out with a hand.

Solas does the same, only slightly surprised when she clasps his forearm and moves to touch their foreheads. It takes him a split second to catch up, his mind still reeling, but he manages to not make a complete fool of himself.

“ _Aneth ara_ Keeper, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Solas,” he dips his head respectfully and thinks that this woman could flay him alive with ease.

Deshanna nods curtly, her eyes flicking to Abigail before they settle back on him. “You speak the language?”

“I do,” he finds himself wanting to shift uneasily underneath her stare. “Though I must admit it has been a few years, my skills may be rusty.”

Abigail snorts. He looks at her and finds her with a hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Your father will be glad you’re back,” the words are sharp and Abigail straightens up immediately. “And we need to speak, privately.”

“Of course,” she dips her head. “Let me just, uh, show Solas to the house and then I’ll come find you?”

There are layers to that interaction and it takes until they walk into the small cottage for Solas to realize why Deshanna had given him such a hard look before dismissing them.

“Abby,” his voice cracks as he turns to look at her. “The Keeper thinks…”

“She’s my grandmother and yeah probably,” she shrugs. Pushes her hair from her face and drops her bag to the floor. “Oh, Solas, shit. Does that bother you?” Wide, green eyes look up at him and he bites his cheek for just a moment.

“Ah, no, it is fine. I will manage,” he clears his throat and tears his gaze from her face to look around. “Provided your father does not kill me, of course.”

She laughs and it’s bright, free. “He won’t. He’s the First so,” she shrugs. “Uh, anyway, this is...nobody else lives here so, um, you’re free to come and go, just be prepared for questions.”

“I will refrain from making any more comments about time,” he turns to face her, hands behind his back. Quirks a brow and finds his chest growing warm when she giggles.

“A few years you said,” she snorts. Leans against the wall and crosses her arms. “Well, I’m gonna go get this over with. Creators, I hope they aren’t too upset.”

“What happened to you disappearing all the time?”

“I mean, I do. I just usually tell them how long I'm going to disappear for ahead of time. The injury kind of ruined that.”

Solas pinches the bridge of his nose. Swears as colorfully as he can. Abigail cackles, eyes bright.

She steps closer, squeezes his bicep before backing to the door. “I’ll be back. Or find me if you decide to explore. Or I’ll find you, yeah?”

He nods and then she’s out the door with a small wave. It clicks shut and he slumps into a chair wondering just what he has gotten himself into this time.

—

He leaves the cottage sometime later and heads straight for the ocean.

The waves lap at the shore, smoothing over the sand. He rolls his breeches up to the middle of his calves and steps into the water. A slow exhale. Shoulders loosen and drop, his chin falls to his chest and he allows himself to breathe for a moment. Thoughts race through his head. About his agents. His orb. Needing to figure out how to fix the Veil. If he can even fix what he’s created and oh, what if he can’t?

What if this is permanent? It shouldn’t be, he remembers some calculations and if he plans it properly once he has his orb, dropping the Veil should be relatively painless.

Relatively because the chaos that will follow…

He blows out a breath and looks out over the water. Thinks about Ghilan’nain and her creations. The sharks, sleek and deadly with rows of jagged teeth. Seals, with their dark eyes and curious nature. Whales, whales of so many varieties because Ghil was indecisive at the best of times.

When things started to turn sour, to go a way Solas would prefer not to remember, she took to creating monsters.

Dragons that stayed deep beneath the surface, without wings or eyes but just as massive. Some large squid, a mistake that she decided was worth life so she dumped it in the water. Snakes, vipers of the sea, equipped with venom strong enough to kill a man with the tiniest of dose.

Solas shakes himself, from head to toe, and clenches his jaw. He locked them all away for a reason and freeing them…

He groans. Buries his head in his hands and bends in half. Later, he can worry about this later when he has his orb and might be able to actually do something. There is no point reminiscing about his best friend when he is alive in the warm waters off the Antivan coast.

“At this point I think you like the ocean more than I do,” Abigail’s voice is soft as she comes to stand by his side. “Alright?”

He nods. “Yes, I was just thinking. Memories,” he flashes her a weak smile as he straightens up. “And you?”

She shrugs. Grins up at him and ah, there’s a glint in her eyes that has him tilting his head in curiosity. “My father was upset, at the injury not my being away, but glad I’m back safe. Also, everyone thinks we’re fucking.”

He chokes. Sputters and feels his entire face heat up as he blushes from the tips of his ears down his neck. Even his chest feels hot.

Abigail is laughing. Head thrown back, hair loose in the wind, and he looks away before he does something incredibly stupid.

“I tried to tell them but they wouldn’t listen and then my grandmother started going on about how you’re a mage and my mother is probably still going on about bonding.”

He closes his eyes and thinks that maybe, if he is lucky, he will count to thirty and this whole thing will have been a dream.

Solas opens his eyes to find Abigail smiling at him and he cannot decide if he’s unlucky or not.

“It matters that I am a mage? _That_ is what caught your mother’s attention?” He reaches out without thinking to tuck hair behind her ear. A blush blooms over her cheeks.

“Everyone in my family are mages, save me,” she shrugs. “So it is my mother’s wish to see me bond to a mage.”

The noise he makes is somewhere between a whine and a groan and it only serves to make Abigail giggle.

“I am sorry about all of them, I imagine it’s only going to get worse.”

Oh no. “Why?”

“Well, they’re planning a feast for tomorrow.”

“Abigail,” he turns fully to face her.

She blinks and he watches her expression shift from confused to startled, her ears turning pink at the tips.

“Oh! Oh no! Not — Creators, not a ‘congrats on the courting’ feast, fuck. Uh, the seasons are shifting, from spring to summer, and we celebrate with a feast. Every year, I swear.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. Rubs at his jaw before shaking his head. “That should be enlightening.”

“And fun,” she bumps her hip against his thigh, eyes looking straight ahead. “It’s chaotic but it’s family, you know?”

Solas hums and inclines his head in response.

As they stand there a few seals pop up from the water. They bark and twist and dive. His eyes track them. They’re longer, bigger than he remembers seals being, just like Abigail’s form. Two of them stop, heads out of the water to look at the two of them. Abigail waves, a grin on her face.

Solas furrows his brow. Something is banging on the windows of his mind, rattling them in their frames, but it’s still too far for him to reach.

So instead he slips his hand into Abigail’s and pretends his entire face doesn’t immediately go bright red when she squeezes his fingers in return.

—

He wakes curled in a small ball and feeling rested, unusual for a variety of reasons, but especially so considering the sun has yet to rise. The last time he was up before the sun he was newly minted as Mythal’s general, an eager pup wanting to please. She had laughed, told him to take his rest when he can and to never again disturb her before the sun was high in the sky.

He snorts and decides he can blame Mythal for his terrible sleeping habits.

A few blinks and he yawns, jaw cracking. Dreams fade from his mind, ghosts dance away, and he is content to lay there and wait for Abigail to wake when he realizes he isn’t alone.

There’s a weight pressing against his back, something flung over his chest and when he looks, it is, in fact, her arm. It rests underneath his own, pinned against his ribs, and her hand splays across the middle of his chest. Fingers light against the sleep shirt he wears. One leg is slung over his hip and her body curls around his top half, her chin resting on his head.

Solas does nothing but lie still and wonder when during the night she decided to attempt to scale him like a castle wall. He can feel her chest shifting as she breathes, the movement a warm comfort, and he decides he doesn’t care how this happened. He remembers they argued about who would take the bed, a narrow thing tucked against the wall, until eventually Solas acquiesced and promised not to sleep on the bench in the living room.

Abigail shifts against him, a deep breath pulled into her lungs before she exhales slowly. The hand in the middle of his chest flexes, fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt for a moment before she pats him. Solas snorts. Finds himself reaching up to cover her hand with his own before he can think about it.

“Morning,” her voice is thick with sleep, rough and a little slurred.

And right up against his ear.

He shivers and hopes she doesn’t notice.

“Good morning,” another yawn after he speaks. She taps a few fingers against his sternum. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, although apparently I dreamed I was climbing a tree,” she moves, slips away with a final pat, and sits up in bed. Lifting her arms above her head, she arches her back and stretches. “Have you been awake long?”

Solas shifts, flops onto his back so he can look at her.

His heart trips in his chest.

Her hair is a mess, waves of gold sticking out in various directions as she runs her hands through the thick mass of it. Forest green eyes look softer in the early dawn, both in color and emotion. Her sleep clothes are rumpled, the shirt lifting up to fall off one shoulder while her pants have fallen obscenely low on her hips.

She is…

He clears his throat and looks away from her waist. She meets his gaze, her cheeks going pink and heat floods his own face.

“You’re adorable,” she reaches out and smooths her thumb across his brow. “You’ve seen me naked but a little hip bone makes you blush?”

“Abigail,” he groans. Buries his face in the pillow and sighs.

When he tilts his head to look at her again, her eyes are wide, more black than green. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth and he wants —

“Solas,” oh his name in her mouth sounds like a benediction. “I would very much like to kiss you.”

He props himself up on his elbows, eyes dropping to her mouth for a second before he meets her gaze. “Please, Abby, _please_ ,” to his own ears, his voice is wrecked. Rough and strangled, coated with need but she just leans forward to tap their foreheads together.

And then she’s leaning over him completely, her hands on his cheeks, and she’s kissing him.

Solas is sure he splinters. Pieces of himself flying across the room, wedging themselves in the walls and shattering the windows.

It’s a chaste kiss, simply a press of lips, and when she pulls away, he realizes that he didn’t respond. Her eyes dart over his face nervously, thumbs smoothing over his cheekbones, and he decides to stop thinking.

He reaches up, cups the back of her neck and draws her down to kiss her properly. She moans against his lips, mouth parting, and the sound makes him shiver. He drags his tongue across her bottom lip and the kiss turns messy. The slick sounds of tongue against tongue, his free hand grasping at her waist when she moves to straddle him. She pulls away from him, tries to catch her breath but gives up and starts mouthing at his jaw.

Her teeth scrape against his neck and he groans, long and low and from the center of his chest. Above him, she shudders and leans closer. Both his hands shift, move to slip along her lower back. Slide underneath her sleep shirt so he can rest his palms against her bare skin and the contact is another bolt of lightning.

He realizes, when she pulls away, her brow furrowed, that he is in fact shaking.

“Solas?” She sits up, knees against his hips. Reaches down with a hand to rub circles on his chest. “Are you okay?”

He laughs. It’s high, strangled, he chokes on the sound and throws his head back against the pillow. “I apologize, it has been, well,” he waves a hand. She giggles. “Thousands of years. The physical touch seems to be enough to reduce me to a puddle.”

“Maybe I’m just that good,” she quirks a brow and he snorts. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Abby, I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” he drops his voice, makes it as serious as he can. “I just need to reacclimate myself with physical contact apparently.”

“Mmm, I can help.”

Before he can say anything, she’s off his lap and pressing against his side. Arms wrap around him, pull him gently until he turns to face her. Tucks his head beneath her chin and clutches at the back of her shirt. She kisses the top of his head.

They stay there until Solas stops shaking and for a few hours after.

—

Solas stands and watches a group of seals from the window.

Abigail is sitting at the table, reading quietly. Neither of them want to leave the cottage. They will, later, when the feast is in full swing, but for now, they are content to keep to themselves.

His head tilts as the sleek, silver creatures dart and slip beneath the waves. He chuckles, goes to turn around but three of them hop up onto the sand and they...shift. Pelts slide off their skin, limbs elongate and they stand up. Elves. People. They gather up their pelts, tie them around their waists or over their shoulders or just drape them over an arm and Solas feels his breath leave him in a rush.

_“You wanted to see me?” His head tilts and when Ghil turns to face him, she is grinning wide. “What did you do?”_

_“Patience, come,” she beckons with her hand before drifting away down the hall._

_Her home is a maze to him still but Ghilan’nain has no trouble navigating it, even without her sight. He follows her, head dipped as his thoughts race and he wonders if Mythal has noticed his absence yet._

_They take a left and the sharp scent of the ocean fills his nostrils. “Another sea creature?”_

_She hums, the sound light and ethereal. “I wanted to try something, something unique. They could be useful.”_

_Her stride does not falter as she weaves down slick steps toward the small cove. He spots them, a group of shining silver creatures that poke their heads above the water to eye them curiously. One tilts its head, eyes wide, before rolling backward and vanishing beneath the surface. Ghilan’nain beckons with her hand, a finger crooks, and two hop out of the water._

_Two steps on dry land and their bodies shift. The seals fade away and are replaced by elves. They stand there, naked save for dripping water and a pelt they clutch in their hands until she tells them to return to the pool behind them._

_Solas gasps._

_“Ghil…”_

_“_ Morlovhen _,” she crosses her arms over her chest and inclines her head._

_“What — How?”_

_She grins wide. “I blended things together. A mix of spirits and elves, the first dozen were catastrophic but I think I have it down now.”_

_“They are...people?” He steps closer to the pool. Watches them swim and play._

_“They are. Strongly connected to the sea. The transition back and forth is easier for them, well, easier than just a regular shapeshifter. They are_ morloi _and they are elven,” she shifts her weight from foot to foot, tucks her hands behind her back. “In order to keep the spirit from completely overwhelming them, they shed their skin when they leave the water. It was the only way to keep them from, well, rather horrific deaths honestly,” Ghilan’nain grins, a wicked flash of sharp teeth._

_Solas feels uneasy. His spine tingles and he shudders. “If the others find out…”_

_“They already know,” her voice is soft and sad. “Andruil...She told me that they would elevate me if I destroyed my creatures,” her head turns back toward the small pool with a soft sigh._

_“You cannot destroy them,” his voice is sharp, words bitter on his tongue. “All of your sea creatures, Ghil, you cannot. They are...incredible, to lose them would be a tragedy.”_

_She smiles, eyes drifting over the tiny cove. “I cannot save them all Solas, those near the surface will be seen.”_

_“So let them be seen!” He clenches his fists. “Let them — We can hide them in the waters down south. Falon’din does not ever check the oceans and Dirthamen will likely let it go, seeing the creatures as a puzzle to solve,” a shaky sigh leaves him. “But these...these are people Ghilan’nain, you cannot just destroy them.”_

_She taps her chin. “I — Yes, you’re right, of course. I will...I will send some of the creatures down south, others I will have to destroy because Andruil will want bodies, don’t look at me like that,” she snaps, head whipping to face him as he glares at her. He still doesn’t know how she knows when his expressions change. “You are brilliant, Mythal trusts you. My only chance to rise is to do as Andruil says.”_

_“Is it worth losing your creations?”_

_“Yes.”_

_His shoulders slump. A hand scrubs over his face before he shoves his hair from his eyes. “Very well. What do you need me to do?”_

“Solas?” Abigail’s voice is soft, her hand on his arm even softer. He almost jumps out of his skin. “What’s wrong?”

“ _Morlovhen_ ,” the word is barely a breath and he turns to face her. “Abigail…”

“We prefer the term selkie these days,” she grins and it’s a little sheepish.

He pinches the bridge of his nose before he steps to the small sofa and sinks down. He racks his brain, tries to remember if Ghilan’nain ever said anything else about this creation and he chokes when another memory floats to the surface.

A memory of a party at Falon’din’s palace. Of lithe, sleek elves who smelled of salt with flat eyes. Of the various pelts that hung from his shoulders and around his waist and covered the wall behind the throne.

“You — Abigail, can you return to the water without your pelt?” His heart kicks against his ribs and threatens to beat out of his chest.

Abigail sits next to him but keeps her eyes focused on the window. “Kind of?”

“What do you mean?”

She grimaces. “Without my pelt, I can’t shift and the salt burns. Freshwater is tolerable, but the ocean? My home?” She shakes her head. “I can’t, without the pelt, it is nothing but pain.”

Solas stares at her, mouth agape. For once he finds himself at a complete loss for words.

“That’s why, well, when I woke to find my pelt missing…”

“Abigail,” her name cracks in his mouth. “Abby, have people...has someone…”

“No, no,” her eyes soften and she reaches out to gently touch his arm. “Never. It’s just, well, it’s a concern for...us.”

“I would never, Abby, I would not. Never, you are...No,” he shakes his head and leans away from her, a hand over his eyes.

“You should know,” her voice drops to a whisper. “My clan is...fond of Fen’Harel because he convinced Ghilan’nain to spare us, or at least that is how the stories go.”

He barks out a laugh and feels panic and guilt bubble up in his chest. Suddenly he feels stifled. Like he needs to pace and prowl and run until his lungs burn and his eyes won’t stay open. Fingers rest against his forearm, calloused from years of using a bow and cold to the touch. Her thumb rubs circles against his skin.

“I should not have convinced her,” his voice is barely a whisper but Abigail freezes next to him all the same. “I...we...we sent a group of her creatures down south, to colder waters near Falon’din. I thought they would be safe, I thought we would be protecting them by sending them there,” he snarls. “A foolish notion considering six months later saw Falon’din draped in seal skins.”

“Solas you didn’t know,” her hand curls around his arm.

He snorts, tilts his head back, rolling it along the sofa so he can look at her. “And what has become of the selkies now? Do _morlovhen_ exist outside your clan?”

“There are other clans where we live, yes. Some of us choose to give up our skins and head to another clan when we find someone we love,” a small smile graces her face before it falls away. “The ocean is our first home but we can, and do, find a home outside of it.”

“Does it not hurt to stay out of the water for so long?”

“No,” she shrugs. “It’s more of an ache I guess, a longing. I don’t need the ocean, I don’t need to shift every day I just...it just feels like...I don’t know how to explain it really,” she laughs but it has a nervous edge to it.

Solas reaches up and brushes stray hairs from her face. Tucks it neatly behind her ear. Watches as a blush blooms over her cheeks and rushes down her neck.

“I had a friend, a cousin, who fell in love with someone from another clan. He hung his pelt up for them and the last I talked to him, he had a child with another on the way and he was so happy Solas,” she wipes at her eyes. “Home always changes for people, you know? Right now it’s the ocean for me but someday I hope it’s not.”

He does not know what to say to that so he remains quiet. Allows himself to cup her cheek and brush his thumb over her skin. She leans into his touch, bright eyes flickering shut, and he lets his own gaze drift. Traces the freckles that are scattered across her face and neck and even the tips of her ears. He knows she is covered from head to toe but sitting like this he is close enough to count them.

He gets to thirty before swiping his thumb over the bridge of her nose.

Her face scrunches up and she sighs softly.

“You know, none of this is your fault,” she’s so quiet it takes him a minute to realize she’s said anything.

“A good deal of it is.”

She hums, eyes still shut. “The Veil sure, but what came after? The _morlovhen_? None of what happened to us is on you.”

“I have made a mess of so much,” his voice drops to a faint whisper. “I destroyed the world we had to make it better but even in that I failed. None of this is better.”

“Not to you maybe but to us? It’s all we’ve ever known,” finally her eyes flicker open and his breath catches in his throat when she locks her gaze on him. “It’s not perfect and yeah, things could definitely be better but,” she shrugs. “It is what it is Solas and it’s not completely a lost cause,” her head turns. She kisses his palm and he swallows hard, throat clicking.

“I don’t know how to fix it short of more destruction,” his hands drop to her shoulders, fingers curl and clutch at her shirt.

Abigail leans forward, rests her forehead against his throat. “Then table it for now. Think about it, come back to it later. Remember that I’m here, if you want me. You don’t have to be alone in this you stubborn man.”

That startles a laugh out of him, something high and reedy and more than a little strained but it’s something. He curls over her, wraps his body around her and they sit on the tiny sofa so wound together he isn’t sure where she ends and he begins.

They stay there, tangled together, until the sun starts to dip toward the horizon and Abigail huffs a breath against his skin, mumbling about having to get ready for the feast.

She climbs to her feet, a little unsteady, so he reaches out. Rests his hand against the small of her back and allows his thumb to smooth over her shirt. Back and forth. Back and forth. An easy rhythm that he falls into naturally. Her head hangs and she sighs, leans into his touch for a moment before turning to face him. Her hand reaches out to cup his skull and pull him close. His forehead presses into her hip and he inhales and it’s all salt and water and fresh air. She smells like the sea and it only makes him want to crawl between her ribs, hollow a spot for himself beneath her heart and live there.

He does not know how long they stay like that but eventually, she leans down and kisses the top of his head. She heads back to her bedroom and he slowly rises. Stretches his arms above his head and groans when his spine pops.

“How old are you?” Her head pokes out the door, eyes flashing with mischief and he glares at her even as she starts to giggle.

“Is it not rude to ask that question?”

Two steps and he is in the doorway, shoulder against the frame as he looks down at her. She dances backward, just out of reach, with a grin on her face.

“Didn’t you hear my grandmother? I lack social graces Solas,” he barks out a laugh and settles in to watch her move about the space. “What, no answer?”

He hums. Scratches at his jaw and then tugs his ear. “It is...different and difficult to place a number on. Perhaps somewhere around thirty?”

Abigail makes a soft sound as she digs through a chest. “Only a little older than I am.”

“Plus a few thousand years.”

“I can’t believe I kissed such an old man.”

Solas laughs, a real laugh, something that starts in his chest and moves up easily. He must sound different because she pauses to look at him over her shoulder and oh, the smile that she gives him shreds his heart and patches it back together in the span of ten seconds. His breath stalls in his lungs and it takes a moment for him to get it back.

She stands up, clothes clutched in her hands that she carefully lays out on the bed. “Uh, we’re going to have to find something for you,” she rubs her nose. “I mean not that what you’re wearing isn’t fine, it’s just,” a wave of her hand.

He steps to her, places himself behind her and wraps his arms around her waist to hold her close. His chin settles on the top of her head and she makes a small, happy sound.

“Shall I go bother your father?”

“Good luck,” she cranes her neck and grins wickedly at him and he has to stop himself from grabbing at her shirt.

Instead, he drops a kiss to her cheek and forces himself to walk away from her.

He leaves the small cottage with salt in his nose and a blush on his cheeks.

—

Solas watches from his spot on the beach, eyes tracking Abigail as she flits from person to person.

The skirt she wears, a layered thing that stops above her knees, swishes around as she moves. Her pelt hangs off her hip, looped through a narrow leather belt. Every step she takes the blue fabric of her skirt ripples and it looks like water. Her shirt is loose, hanging off a shoulder, and short enough to leave her stomach exposed. There are flowers braided in her hair and gold jewelry hanging from her body and —

Solas swallows hard.

Averts his gaze to the ocean where seals bark and play. The clan trusts him. They all trust him enough to shift in full view, leaving and jumping into the water with pelts in hand. Whatever Abigail told the Keeper, her father, her brothers, it was enough for them to just...accept him. Unconditionally, it seems. They have given him a place here, something on the fringes for now but with the promise of more and his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest.

This is too much.

He woke with the intent to rip the Veil down and fix his mistakes no matter the cost but what would that do to the People? What would become of Abigail and her clan? Of these people who have let him in so entirely without a second thought?

He rubs his jaw, pinches his ear and sighs. He had hoped that his cottage would be so far removed that he would be able to regain his strength alone.

Solas tilts his head back and snorts, eyes drifting from star to star. Alone. Always alone. It was so simple to plan everything out, to do the calculations and plot paths and order agents around because all he had was himself. This world is dull and not his and _temporary_. Only a stop for him on the way back. If he avoided the people, he could pretend they weren’t real. And then Abigail blew into his life and now he’s here, with her clan, with a crown of flowers sitting on his head, wearing borrowed clothes that were given without complaint. How could he have ever thought…

“There you are,” her voice washes over him like waves on the shore. When he opens his eyes she is looking at him like he means something to her. Something more than potential battles won. “Okay?”

He presses his palms to his eyes for a moment, bends over to touch his forehead to his knees before looking up at her.

“All things considered I am okay,” he smiles but it’s weak, he can feel it, and when her brows tip down he clears his throat. “Truly Abby, I am content at the moment.”

She sits next to him, touches his wrist gently like he’s made of wet parchment, liable to tear if she does more than barely caress his skin.

“Do you want to leave?”

“No, no, I am enjoying myself, I promise,” his smile this time feels more natural and he watches her shoulders relax just a fraction. “I have been alone for so long I forget how...boisterous large gatherings of people can be.”

Abigail hums. “You need to get drunk.”

He snorts loudly, falling onto his back as he throws his arm over his eyes. “That is absolutely the last thing I need at the moment.”

She giggles from her place next to him and there’s a moment where he realizes, quite suddenly, that he would do anything to hear that sound for the rest of his life. His body jolts, jerks as he sits up and lays a palm against her cheek.

She says nothing, just makes a content sound as she leans into him. Her thumb continues to brush over the back of his hand, the bones of his wrist. He is on the brink of something but he isn’t sure what and countless thoughts rattle around his head. Bounce between his ears and knock at the back of his teeth until one takes him by the tongue and squeezes.

“You change everything.”

His arm falls away as he speaks, eyes catching hers and it’s grey and green. Storm clouds and kelp forests. Mountain ranges and endless meadows. His bones feel heavy and light at the same time. The firelight catches her hair, illuminates her from the back, and she is more radiant than Mythal ever was.

“In a good way?” Her voice is soft and she looks so small, with flowers tumbling from her hair and paint scattered across her neck and collarbone. Her braids have begun to come undone but he doesn’t care. Solas does not care because she is _here_ and she is _real_ and she changes everything.

He moves closer, shifting to rest on his knees as he catches her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widen, mouth opening to speak, but he kisses her before he can think about what he is doing.

His hands drop to her waist, bare skin to bare skin and he is helpless to stop the moan. It’s deep and low, from the bottom of his chest, and she responds by climbing into his lap, knocking him off his knees so he is sitting again. She runs her hands over the top of his head before clutching at his neck. He pulls away, peppers kisses down her cheek to her jaw. He finds a spot behind her ear that makes her whine and rock against him so he settles there. Stays. Scrapes sharp teeth and wet tongue over the same place until he is sure he’s marked her.

When he tips his head back to look she whines, high and needy, and he presses a gentle touch to her shoulder. Her eyes are blown, wide and dark and rimmed by the thinnest ring of green. And there is a mark on her skin, colors shifting as it begins to darken.

“Solas,” Abigail’s voice is rough. She leans forward to touch their foreheads together. “Solas, how far do you want this to go?”

He grabs at her waist again, one hand sliding down to smooth over her ass before he squeezes. She gasps, presses down and rocks against him. Hard.

Solas growls.

“Abigail, I want you,” lips against her ear, voice smooth as honey when he whispers. “All of you, if you are willing.”

“Willing, he says,” she’s panting in his lap now, breath coming in short bursts. “Yeah, yeah if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

She nods. Swallows hard. When she climbs to her feet she is unsteady. Solas is up after her immediately, hands reaching for her and he’s sure there is something poetic about that but his brain is focused on other things so he lets the thought go. Focuses on touching her, on dragging his fingers across her bare stomach and back.

She swats at him playfully, a soft smile on her face as she links their fingers together and steps close enough to whisper right against his ear. “Follow me,” a quick kiss to his cheek and then she’s gone.

He is left standing on the beach with wide eyes and empty hands as she bounces away, skirts fluttering around her while flowers trail in her wake. His mouth is dry. He thinks he has never seen someone or something so captivating in his entire life and he has lived _thousands_ of years.

Abigail stops and turns to look at him, eyes shifting and glittering in the moonlight. She beckons with a finger, curling and pulling him in like a fish on a hook and oh how fitting.

There is no one, he thinks, no one strong enough to resist her.

So he goes.

—

It takes one week before one of his agents finds him in the Dreaming and asks him where the fuck he is.

Solas has spent the last seven days waking early, heading out to help fish, coming back to talk to Abigail’s brothers and father and anyone who is curious about him. Which, as it turns out, is pretty much the entire clan. He is something of a novelty, Abigail has never brought anyone back to the clan and he is without _vallaslin_. Her grandmother, Keeper Deshanna, pesters him about his magic and talks him into helping some of the younger mages who have just come into their own magic.

He leaves the group of mages after their last lesson with a soft goodbye and the youngest child, a five-year old whose name escapes him at the moment, wraps herself around his leg and holds on tight.

“‘M gonna miss you,” she mumbles against his breeches.

He is frozen in place, eyes wide, and he looks around for Abigail but he cannot find her. He drops a hand to the young girl's head. Ruffles her hair. “You will be alright without me _da’len_.”

She huffs and steps away to glare at him in the way only an extremely put out young child can. “Still gonna miss you, you’re fun,” her expression shifts as she grins at him. “Will you come back?”

Solas swallows hard. Blinks and looks beyond her while his fists clench at his sides. He wants to, desperately. He has spent the last week among living, breathing people and it hurts somewhere deep in his chest to know that he was going to just subject them to the Veil dropping without trying to ease the transition.

“We’ll be back Bel,” Abigail’s voice is gentle as she kneels down next to the girl and when did she even get here?

Solas blinks and feels sand slip from beneath his feet. Everything she does throws him, sends him spiraling out and he should not be so entranced by the easy was she disrupts his life.

“Promise?” The young girl, Bel’nehn he remembers now, blinks wide silver eyes at him and he finds himself nodding before he can think better of it.

“I promise,” he smiles as the girl grins again before darting off, leaving him standing there feeling like he is falling and the ground is racing up to meet him.

Abigail takes his hand without a word, laces their fingers together and leads him to the water. They stand there, watching waves push and pull. A few seals play in the distance but Solas focuses on the feel of her hand in his and the stinging spray of saltwater on his cheeks.

He turns his head, opening his mouth to speak but he finds her watching him and every thought vanishes from his head in a cloud of smoke.

A week with her clan in the sun has given her pale skin some color and even more freckles have appeared on her face. She is wearing short breeches and a shirt that barely covers her chest, hair tied up on her head to keep it out of the way and he cannot stop thinking about how easy it is to get lost in her. They have spent many days talking until mere hours before sunrise and he has found himself seeking her out just because. Just to be in her presence, to be with her is enough.

Her hand squeezes his and he jerks his eyes up to meet her gaze. “I told you the people more than make up for this world.”

Solas laughs and it’s a little wet, a little sorrowful. He shakes his head. “You were correct. Your clan has been nothing short of hospitable,” that gets him a look. He sighs. “They are amazing Abigail. I see why you care for them and I see, having spent time with your family, why you are the way you are.”

She hums. Takes a step closer and tips her head back so she can look up at him. “And how am I?”

He drops a kiss to her forehead, her neck. “Fierce,” he whispers the word against the soft skin of her neck.

Abigail laughs. Moves her head so she can kiss him properly and he allows himself to stop thinking about anything that isn’t the feel of her lips against his. She tastes of the ocean and he groans, drops his hands to her waist and steps closer.

“You ready to leave?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not, I have grown fond of everyone here.”

He does not tell her that he worries being away from them will only make him forget how real they are. That being away will push him back onto the path of rushing to drop the Veil. He is fighting to reconcile the world he woke up in, dull and broken, with the world he sees now, vibrant and full of people with lives. It makes him feel as if he is drowning and he wants to stay here with Abigail in her small home by the sea and teach the young mages how to use their powers but he cannot do that. Solas finds himself wanting, desperately, to help but unsure just how.

Abigail lays her hands on his cheeks and he blinks, startled out of his thoughts. “Alright?”

He tilts his head. Touches their foreheads together and presses against her. “For now.”

She hums, eyes closing as she pushes back against his touch. “We’ll come back.”

Solas nods and does not tell her that he isn’t sure if he’ll be with her or not.

—

The return trip takes six days because Solas drags Abigail into the forest to show her hidden waterfalls and caves and plants.

The look of sheer joy on her face twists his heart but he forces himself to remember every little detail.

When they finally get back to his house by the water, there is a stack of papers on the table and Abigail takes one look at it before grabbing his hand and immediately taking him into the forest again.

—

Solas wakes slowly, blinking and stretching and remembering that last night was a bit of a blur.

They got back from swimming and fishing. He cracked open a crate hoping to find some more fruit but instead found some very, _very_ good wine. If he remembers correctly, they drank two bottles between them before Abigail started plucking his clothes off.

When he looks around, he finds that the cottage is a mess of crushed flowers and damp clothes, the smell of saltwater thick in the air. They are a tangle of limbs in his small bed. Abigail’s head is on his chest, an arm across his stomach. Bare skin to bare skin.

He swallows hard. Lifts a hand and drags a finger down her spine. Slides it back up. Moves across her shoulder to her bicep. Allows himself to become distracted by her body and the lines of it. Tendons and ligaments. Muscle and freckles.

By the time she wakes he has found five different constellations on her skin.

(Fenrir sits in the middle of her chest, above her heart, and he feels like someone has shaken him so hard his insides are mixed up.)

She blinks slowly. Yawns and stretches out next to him. She is a lithe, lean thing. Muscles shift and bunch, joints pop and he snorts.

“And you said I was old.”

“Fuck you,” she giggles as she speaks.

“I believe you already have,” he pokes the tip of her nose, watches as she goes a little cross-eyed trying to follow his finger. “A few times.”

“You’re full of it this morning,” she smirks at him as she moves to lean over him so they’re nose to nose. “Sleep well?”

Solas hums. Tilts his head up. She sighs like she’s annoyed by the silent request but her eyes are sparkling and when she kisses him, her lips are curved in a smile. It’s so easy and that...that terrifies him. She fits with him, like a missing puzzle piece. There are still things he has to do, things he must do eventually and the Veil will need to be dealt with but maybe...maybe he can wait. Take a little time to think. Try to come up with a plan that won’t cause mass destruction.

And if it can’t be done, well, he will just have to deal with that in the future if needed.

A pinch to his arm yanks him back to the present and he grins sheepishly at the woman in his arms. “My apologies.”

“Don’t apologize I just,” she shakes her head. “You always look so...lost.”

His brows knit together. “Lost?”

“Mhm, like you know the answer but it isn’t the one you want so you keep looking but there’s nothing to find,” her head tilts. “Lost.”

Now it’s his turn to blink at her with wide eyes. He opens his mouth only to close it with a sharp clack of teeth.

“Alright?” She reaches out to touch his cheek.

He nods slowly. “Yes. It is just, well, you are correct.”

“Naturally,” she leans down to touch their foreheads together. “What’s the answer you keep finding?”

He goes still against her. Every muscle tense and his jaw tight. Honest. He should be honest with her and he wants to but lies scratch at the back of his throat like a dog trying to get in out of the rain.

“Solas.”

Not a question that time. A request.

He opens his eyes slowly and finds that he is unable to be anything but truthful when she looks at him like he’s going to break her heart.

“I told you I created the Veil,” he shifts, sitting up and pulling his hands into his lap. This is an odd conversation to be having naked but he cannot stop now or he will flee. Flee and never return. “My orb, when found, provided I can unlock it, would allow me to regain my powers and...remove the Veil,” he scratches at his nose. His jaw. “What I cost the People would be returned. Magic, immortality…”

Abigail has tucked herself up against the wall, knees to her chest.

Solas keeps talking if only to fill the silence.

“The cost of removing the Veil would be high,” his face begins to heat up and he locks his gaze on the wall in front of him. “The Evanuris would be freed and the death toll would be incalculable. The shift from Dreaming to Waking becoming one would drive spirits to corruption, a very high number of them. A good number of the people of this world would be slaughtered by demons.”

Abigail remains silent and staring at her hands so he continues.

“The conclusion I keep reaching is that that level of carnage is unavoidable. No matter how I look at it,” he runs a hand over his head and frowns. “This is all provided I can even unlock my orb, though the solution that was given to me for that seems just as unwise as removing the Veil.”

“Solas,” she’s looking at him now. Fierce and bright. “You didn’t — You were trying to _help_.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, and look what that has wrought. A world so cut off from magic that it feels like trying to fell a tree with only a spoon for a tool,” he shakes his head and looks at her. “I cost the People their magic, their way of life Abigail. I destroyed it all and it has —“

“Did you do it on purpose?”

Her voice is sharp as she cuts him off and he rears back, ears flattening against his skull.

“What?”

“Did you destroy everything on purpose?”

“I — No, I created the Veil in order to —“

“Creators above you don’t get it,” she snaps at him. “You didn’t create the Veil to destroy the People. You created it to, what?”

“Lock the Evanuris away. Abigail…”

“No, no. You didn’t know Solas,” she grabs his hand and his entire body jolts at the contact. “You were trying to help.”

“But I didn’t! I did not help at all, I made things worse. Why can you not see that?”

“Because this is the only world I’ve ever known. This is all generations of us have ever known,” she drags her thumb across the back of his knuckles. “If you want to help the People now, don’t repeat the same mistake. Try something else. Help us as _we are_ , not as you want us to be.”

He swallows hard. Exhales shakily. “I do not know what else to do,” his voice shakes. “This world is so wrong. It should not be like this, the Veil was supposed to save the People, not reduce them to whatever it is they are now.”

Abigail squeezes his hands. “I think we’ve survived just fine.”

“But you should not have to just survive,” Solas shakes his head. “You should not live entire lives in the blink of an eye, cut off from magic that was once such an intrinsic part of the People. The Veil —”

“Your guilt eats at you, doesn’t it?” Her voice is soft, eyes even softer as she looks up at him. Solas finds he cannot speak, his mouth working for a few moments before he shrugs lamely. “You did what you thought —”

“I acted rashly in a fit of anguish and rage because of Mythal’s murder,” his voice is a murmur, low and ragged. “I was working to lock them away already but the Veil was not...there was more research to do but they murdered Mythal and I reacted. I should have waited, I should have done more to save more of our way of life.”

“And now you’ve woken up in a world you view as broken and you plan on reacting impulsively to that information as well.”

He lowers his gaze to his hands. Watches her thumbs smooth over veins and tendons. Bones and freckles. All they are is flesh and blood. Without a word he catches her hand, turns it so the palm faces up, and presses two fingers to the outside of her arm at her wrist. Abigail’s heart beats steadily, thrums beneath her skin and pushes up against his touch with every second that passes.

This world is real, its _people_ are real, and he owes it to them to at least try to be better than he was.

Solas closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath. There’s a thumb under his eye, moving over his cheeks and oh, when did he start crying? He sniffs, chuckles softly, and leans into her touch.

“You are right, as I am realizing you often are,” she hums as he speaks. “It is infuriating.”

Abigail laughs and drops her hands to his neck, fingers brushing his jaw. He reaches up to wipe his cheeks with his free hand, keeping the fingers of the other on her pulse. A slow exhale, an easy release of tension, and he leans down to touch their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” he whispers into the space between them.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

—

Solas is sitting at the small table rolling an apple around as he pours over a letter from an agent in Orlais. Information about his orb, the lead they’re chasing, how many more they’ve recruited and he isn’t surprised that most of them are from alienages.

The door creaks open and his eyes lift immediately, a smile on his lips when he finds Abigail walking in. She is soaking wet, hair hanging in clumps that drip, and completely naked. Her pelt is in her hands but his eyes drift from her shoulders to her arms, muscles bunching and flexing as she stretches a little.

“Who’s that from?” She pads by him, pausing to kiss his forehead, before vanishing into their bedroom.

The thought still makes his heart race. Their bedroom. It has only been four months since they came back from their first visit to her clan and yet it feels like forever. Solas wonders if that’s due to the fact that Abigail has almost always been with him since he woke. He has not spent much time away from her, not since finding out what she is. They have gone back a few times, staying with her clan for days or weeks, yet they always return to the tiny cottage by the sea where it all began.

He rests his chin on his hand, elbow on the table, and just watches her through the door to their room. She moves around with ease, pulling clothes from drawers and tying her hair up. His eyes drift, move from the corner of her jaw down to her neck. His fingers twitch with the sudden burning need to close the distance between them and touch her.

He is halfway out of his chair when she turns and begins to head back to him. Abigail blinks, tilts her head, and grins.

“Distracted?” She slips onto his lap with all the liquid grace he has come to expect from her and drops her pelt on the table, narrowly avoiding the letters.

Solas puts his hands on her waist and hums. “Perhaps a little,” it takes nothing to close the space between them and kiss her so he does. She tastes of the ocean and he sighs happily against her mouth. “To answer your question, it’s from an agent in Orlais.”

She makes a small noise. Presses her nose to his throat. “Good?”

“That depends,” he shifts a little, letting a hand slip up to rest against her ribs. “They have recruited more elves but the situation in Halamshiral is concerning,” his nose wrinkles in distaste. He startles when her thumb smooths between his brows. “There is also talk of various situations and even the start of some small uprisings in Tevinter.”

Abigail tilts her head. “More magisters turning up dead?”

“With their hearts missing and their slaves gone, yes. Some of those former slaves have ended up in Orlais, a few of them have been recruited by my agents.”

“Hm. Have any of them spoken of what’s going on in Tevinter?”

“Aside from the dead magisters?” She nods. “Small, localized uprisings of slaves. Nothing big enough to have bothered the magisters much yet but enough that it seems to be catching on.”

“Do you think,” she leans back to look him in the eyes. He cannot stop himself from reaching out to touch her so he lays a hand against her jaw. Her eyes light up. “Solas.”

“ _Vhenan_?”

Abigail rises from his lap, turns to pick up her pelt from the table. He watches as she walks to the front door.

As she hangs her pelt up on the hook beside it.

She looks at him over her shoulder, green eyes sharp and bright. “What do you know about starting and running a rebellion?”

Solas thinks, very seriously, that he has never been quite so happy to be quite so unlucky.

**Author's Note:**

> morloi: welsh for seal  
> bara lafwr: seaweed that has been boiled for a long time and then pureed, sometimes coated in oatmeal before frying which is what abigail does here  
> morlovhen: "seal-people", selkie. a mashup of welsh and elvish.  
>   
> i'm on [tumblr](https://lvllns.tumblr.com) if y'all wanna come hang.


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